


The Girl in Yellow

by Em_313



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Childhood Friends, Children's Stories, Deaf Character, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Male-Female Friendship, Period-Typical Sexism, Self-Insert, Sickfic, hard of hearing character, polio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-13 07:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15359223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_313/pseuds/Em_313
Summary: 8-year-old Charlie Morris has been stuck in a hospital bed for a month. He'll never again jump fences, climb trees, do cartwheels, or win footraces against the other boys in the orphanage.Doctors say he's lucky...Lucky to be alive, lucky to be able to breathe and stand.But he's not feeling very lucky, until she arrives and his whole world flips around.





	1. Oh My God They Were Roommates

**Author's Note:**

> ~Check out that vine trash chapter title~

**June 1893**

They met in the hospital.

It was just after dinnertime, and Charlie was in his bed, massaging his right hip to see if he could feel anything but shooting pins and needles, when three nurses rushed in carrying a stretcher

He tried to sit up to see. He had to use his arms to push himself up--he wasn’t used to that yet. It was a girl, probably about his age, with a yellow sundress and bright red cheeks.  He was pretty sure her eyes were closed. Was she even awake?

 Charlie stared as the nurses unbuttoned her dress and lifted her into bed wearing just a white slip. Her arms looked sunburnt, but she’d been wearing long sleeves.

“Don’t feel good.” the little girl mumbled. “Don’t feel good.”

“I know, darling,”  One of the nurses said kindly. “Everything is going to be just fine once we can get you cooled down, okay?” the other nurses were stuffing her dress, shoes, and stockings into a bag. “Rest, now, Emily.”

_Emily._ Charlie thought. His arms were growing tired from holding himself upright, and he fell back into the mattress, exhausted.

_Emily._ For the first time in almost a month, he had a friend. Or at least, a roommate.  Someone his own age.

...

The wooden ceiling was made of 87 boards. Charlie had counted. A lot. 

“How long do ya have to be in bed before ya start to lose ya mind?” he asked Emily.

She was sleeping. Still. She’d been asleep for over a whole day, and she didn’t even wake up when the nurses came in and out to check on her.

Charlie sighed, but he understood. A month ago, he’d been that sick too. Now, he didn’t know what he was, except an eight-year-old kid who’d been kicked out of an orphanage because he could no longer climb the stairs to get inside.

He looked at the ceiling. The head of his bed was under board number 28. God, he wished they had a window.

...

When Charlie woke up the next day, Emily was already awake, propped up against pillows. Her cheeks were still pink, but her eyes were open and it looked like the nurses had combed her hair.

“Hey, roomie.” Charlie said. “How are you feeling?”

Emily was fidgeting with her blanket and didn’t look up. Maybe she was too sick to talk.  

But he tried again. “Morning.” he said, a little louder. She jumped and turned towards him.

“Oh.” She said loudly. “Hi.”

“Didn’t mean to scare ya.” he said. “My name is Charlie. I, um, I’m glad you’re awake.”

“Charlie…” She said. “You...sorry. I’m sorry, what did you say?” she leaned towards him and shook her head.

“I’m glad you’re awake.” he repeated.

“Me too, I guess.” She said. “They said my sisters and my folks can’t come see me. I...I guess I’m still contagious.”

So she had a family. Charlie nodded. “We’s in isolation. Where they puts the kids who too sick to be ‘round anyone but each other.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

He moved his blanket and used both hands to pull up his pant leg so she could see his leg, thin and weak and useless. “Polio.” he said. “Lucky to be here.”

“Gosh.” She said. Her eyes, still tired and fever-glazed, were brown and wide.

“I’m just so dang _bored.”_ he said. He flopped back against his pillow.

Emily was quiet for a minute, and she shook her head. “I...I don’t really remember what happened, actually.” she said. “My throat hurt somethin’ awful and my father carried me to the carriage, and now I’m here.”

“You were asleep a long time. Almost two days.”

“I...I want my family.” She said. Her voice prickled with tears. “I want my books and my kitten. When can we go home?”

Charlie swallowed hard. He didn’t want to cry with her. He’d done enough on his own. “I’ve been here for almost a month.”

“A month!” Emily exclaimed and then the tears came. Charlie knew better than to stare at a kid when they was crying. Nothing more embarrassing than bawling _and_ having people look at you.

...

Emily cried more at lunch time, when the nurses told her they’d had to burn everything she’d come with when she was sick.

“My dress!” She said. “I want my yellow dress! It’s my favorite!”

“Shh, shh.” the nurse said sharply. “Hush, child, you’re yelling. You’ll wear yourself out.”

“What am I supposed to wear?”

“You’ll be feeling better in a couple days, and your family can bring you clean clothes when they come pick you up.”

The thought of even one more second apart from her family made Emily feel even worse. She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted, tears running silently down her face.

The nurse pointed at the tray next to her bed. “Eat up, both of you.” She said. “You’ll never get your strength back if ya don’t eat.”

 

The rest of that day, and most of the next, they both just picked at their food, moped and slept then moped and slept some more.

“Being sick sure is the worst.” Charlie said at one point, but the girl on the other side of the room didn’t answer.

 

The fourth day was different. Emily’s fever broke and she was well enough to understand how miserably bored Charlie was.

“What do you _do_ all day?” She asked him.

“Not much.” Charlie said. “I know this ceiling real dang well.”

“Can you walk?" She asked **.**  "Can you stand up?” 

“No.”

“Did you used to be able to?”

“Yeah.” He said. “Yeah, I was a normal kid til I got real sick ‘bout a month or so ago. I walked, and I ran, and I climbed trees--”

“I love climbing trees!” Em interjected.

Charlie’s face fell. “Well, I can’t now!”  

“Oh.” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, why do you talk so loud?”

“I don’t talk loud!” she said. “The nurses said that too, but I promise I’m talking normal.”

“No you’re not.” he said. “You’re talking loud.”

“Is this quieter?” She whispered, but even her whisper was a little loud.  “Happy now?”

Charlie smiled. “Yes.”

“Is it okay if I come over there?” she asked. “I like talking to you but it’s weird being so far away.”  

“Of course!” Charlie said, too eagerly. He used his arms to push himself backwards.

She slid slowly out of her bed, her legs still shaky like a newborn pony, and sat down at the foot of his bed. “I hate this.” She said.

“I know.” Charlie said. “Me too.”

“Will we get in trouble?” Em said. “For me sitting here?”

“What are they gonna do to a couple o’ sick kids?”

“That’s right.” She said. “Can’t be mad at us.”

Em and Charlie talked most of the day: they were both eight-and-a-half, they were both thin and had blonde hair and brown eyes.  She had two sisters, he had none. She lived in a big house in the country, and he lived in an orphanage. She loved to read, he hated it. They both loved playing outside, and they both hated school and sitting still.

“My friend taught me a hand clapping game.” Em said. “Want me to show you?”

A month ago he would’ve said no, but now Charlie grinned. A game! “Sure!”

She showed him, slowly at first, clapping and snapping and left-hand-right-hand-both-hands.  Charlie messed up. A lot. Had the polio made him stupid and clumsy, too?

“C’mon, try again.” Emily said.  She held out her hands and went at his pace. “Yeah! Good job.” She nodded, and then, once they had the rhythm, she started singing. “Cinderella, dressed in yella, went upstairs to kiss a fella, made a mistake, kissed a snake, how many doctors did it take? Now turn your hands over.” She said, and Charlie remembered to. “One and two and three and four and five and--”

They laughed. Charlie hadn't laughed in a long time. 


	2. Pen Pals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've absolutely loved the great conversation about ableism, deafness/disability, and empathy vs sympathy that's been happening in the comments! THANK YOU all for sharing your brilliant, inspiring thoughts and personal stories with me <3
> 
> Follow me on Twitter if you want stupid stuff my roommate says, cute animals, and more rambling on writing/faith/social justice/teaching: Emily_A_333 (I'm obviously v uncreative with usernames)

**September 1893**

Charlie had figured out that the best place to hide was behind the bank on 38th street. The alley didn’t usually smell too bad, and there weren’t a lot of other kids around to mess with him.  He sat on the cool, hard ground and watched people come in and out of shops, carts rumbling by. Businessmen in too-tight suits with shiny gold pocket watches stepped around him. Little kids hanging from their parents’ hands stared with wide mouths and wide eyes, craning their little necks to look at him like an animal in a zoo.

Up the block, Charlie spotted a young woman pushing a stroller. Perfect. He tried to make eye contact as she walked by. “Ma’am?” he said. “Please, ma’am, do ya got any change?” 

She gave him a thin smile, but kept walking.

 

Emily stared out the window next to her desk, resting her head in her hand. She loved when the trees were in-between, the last whispers of summer fighting to hang on as fall took over.  Some of the leaves were already yellow and brittle, but most were still soft and alive, yellow and red at the tips and green near the tree. How long until recess?

Someone poked her in the shoulder. “Oh!” she exclaimed. She turned towards the boy next to her, and he pointed at Miss Sullivan, who was glaring right at her.

“Young lady,it is _extremely_ rude to ignore an adult who is speaking to you." She said.

“I-I’m sorry.” Emily said, and she sat up a little straighter.  “What was the question, ma’am?”

Only two weeks into school and she was already in trouble all the time.

While the big kids read and the little ones traced letters, Miss Sullivan had Emily’s group come to the front for math.  She sat like a lady and really tried to listen, even though she hated math and the golden trees outside were begging to be admired and climbed. The new teacher mumbled and the numbers got all criss-crossed on her slate.  

She glanced at the girl next to her. Where did the 25 come from?

“Now, Michael, do I add or subtract next?” Miss Sullivan asked.

Michael must have answered because the teacher nodded, but Emily missed it somehow. She always felt a step behind. No matter how much she looked between the board and her slate and Miss Sullivan’s mumbling mouth, nothing was making sense. Embarrassment swelled like boiling water. Maybe school was supposed to be harder now that she was older.

 

The dinner line at the poor house was unusually long tonight, and Charlie felt small and squished between dozens of unwashed bodies. The lady in front of him had four kids and about as many teeth.  One of the kids in front of him was about his age, but he just glared when Charlie tried to wave at him. He couldn’t see over the crowd what he had tonight, but he hoped it wasn’t cornbread. After a baker’s donation last week, he was so dang tired of cornbread.

Every table was filled with people quietly eating, and Charlie struggled to find a spot with his plate in one hand and in crutch in the other. He was sore from standing so long, and from sitting on the ground half the day.  He was only eight, almost nine, but he felt 80.

He spotted an empty seat near a man with three little girls. The littlest one, maybe four or five, wore her hair in a yellow ribbon and waved shyly at Charlie as he eased himself onto the hard wooden bench. He smiled back.  She reminded him of Emily, but he didn’t know why. And he didn’t know why was he still thinking of her when they’d both left the hospital over two months ago.

 

Emily's mother was able to visit the last few days. She sat in a chair next to the bed, saying over and over what a relief it was to see Emily feeling so much better. Charlie was thankful they never questioned why his folks hadn’t come to see him.  

She got to go home the day before he did, and they both bounced in their beds with excitement. 

“I haven’t seen my sisters in two weeks.” Em had told Charlie for the hundredth time. “We’ve never been apart for that long, never ever.”

Charlie smiled. He was happy for her, really, that she had a place to go home to. “I’m just excited to be outside.” He said. “Wasted the best part of the summer in bed.” He wondered if he could teach himself to swim again with his bum leg, now that he was getting the hang of walking with a crutch. He remembered an orphanage that had taken all the children to a swimming hole every summer. 

Emily nodded. “You should give me your address, so we can write each other letters.” She said. “I’ll miss you.”

Charlie didn’t know how to tell her he didn’t really have an address.

He didn't know how to tell her that since his mom died and his dad bailed, he’d lived in three different orphanages since he was a toddler.  The one he lived in up until the summer--Saint Richard’s Home for Boys--was crowded, filthy, and full of older boys who would push him down the stairs even before he got sick.

“I’m...I’m moving soon.” He said. He looked down at his hands.

“Oh.” Emily said. “Well...maybe I can give you mine and you can write me from your new house." 

She’d torn a corner of paper from a leather-bound journal her mother had brought her, and written the address for her big country house in short, loopy script.

Charlie pulled it from his pocket and laid it next to his plate, even though he’d memorized as soon as she gave it to him.  The ink had faded, and the paper was soft and wrinkled, creased firmly down the middle. He’d have a real home, someday, to write her from.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, this is time-traveled and fictionalized, but that school scene just scratches the surface. Long story short, when I was 10, I was denied accommodations for about 6 months, despite scientific evidence I physically couldn't hear my teacher's voice, which was a trainwreck for my already shaky math skills and socially isolating. This was about a year after my sister died, and the principal told my mom my disrespect/not listening was just part of my grieving process. *rolls eyes into the sun* 
> 
> I wanted to keep more of the focus on Crutchie/Charlie and not hash all that out here but oops I told that story anyways. 
> 
> I work all weekend but I'm excited to think about where I can take this piece so I'll get back to it ASAP. If you have any ideas, I'm open to them <3


	3. Chapter 3

**February 1895**

 

Emily recognized the paperboy immediately.

Charlie was half a block ahead of her, crutch under one arm and waving a newspaper with the other. She let go of her father’s hand and ran in front of him, dodging around a couple stepping out of a shop.

“Emily! Where are you going?” Her parents shouted. She heard them this time, but didn’t turn around. She barely glanced over her shoulder as she crossed the street.

Charlie didn’t notice her until she was right in front of him. “Holy smokes!” He said. His mouth fell open, then spread into a slow smile. “Never thought I’d see ya ‘gain.”

Em was grinning. “My sisters and I come to the city every year for our birthday.” She said. “I turned ten last week.”

“Emily, what in the world were you thinking?” her father said as her family swarmed behind her.

“I...I wanted to buy a paper.” She said. “I guess I got excited. Sorry.”

“We’re in a big city. We have to stay together.” her mother said. Her father reached into his pocket and handed Charlie a penny.

“Mama, this is Charlie.” Emily said. “Remember, we were in the hospital together?”

“Oh.” She said. She gave Charlie a thin, wavering smile. “How nice to run into you.”

“Nice to see you too, ma’am.” he mumbled.

Emily’s mom touched her husband’s arm, whispered something to him, and Em’s dad pulled out another nickel.

“Here, honey,” Emily’s mom held it out to Charlie.

“Wow, thank you.” he said. “Thank you so much.”

Em’s sisters, one blonde and one brunette, stood on either side of their dad, pulling on his hands and complaining about the cold.

“Let’s go.” Her father said.

Emily and Charlie stood still on the sidewalk, close against the building, staring at each other.

“Emily.” her father repeated. “It’s cold. Let’s go get something to eat.”

Charlie was sure that was the last he’d see of Em. In a big city like New York, what were the odds of running into each other anyways? He watched Emily, her sisters, her mom and dad--a whole family, moving as a pack--disappear into the crowd and around the corner.

Charlie set his papes down and leaned against the brick wall behind him to try to stretch out his hip. His useless right foot inside beat up shoes flopped at an awkward angle.

Two ladies with big fancy hats paused at his corner. “Oh, you poor thing.” One of them said. She stuck out her lip.

He positioned his crutch back under his arm and straightened up. “Hullo, ma’am.”

“Look at his leg.” The other woman pointed. Charlie grabbed a pape from his bag and read a headline.

“Wanna buy a pape, ma’am? Says there was a big fire in midtown apartments.” Neither of them had taken their eyes off of his leg or his crutch.

“Of course.” the lady who’d pointed reached for her purse. “You must be such a brave boy.”

“Thanks ma’am.” He said. Charlie sold them both a pape, then sold a few more. He wished there was a way to hold onto his crutch and keep his hand in his pocket at the same time--his left hand was okay, but his right was red and numb with cold. The boys checked the church’s donation box often, but no one had given up gloves.

 

“Charlie!” No one called him by his real name anymore. He turned around, and Emily was hurrying towards him.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“What?” She asked as she got closer. He hair was pulled up in a red headband that matched her thick red coat.

“What are you doing?” Charlie said. “I thought you left.”

“We were in a shop, but it’s not fair.” She said. “It’s not right you’re still out here.”

“I’m a’ight, Em.” He said automatically. “Come on.” She said.

“There’s a cafe right here. Come with me.”

 

They ended up in a cafe Charlie could’ve only dreamed of entering, with tall metal stools and paintings of bright flowers and sleek women in profile on the walls. Emily marched right up to the counter, pulled a coin out of her coat pocket, and ordered two hot chocolates.

“That was really sweet of ya to get me somethin’” Charlie said. “Ya didn’t have to.”

“No big deal.” Em said, cupping her own hot chocolate between her hands. “I got a dime for my birthday and I haven’t spent it yet.”

While Charlie tried to figure out to balance his crutch under his arm without spilling any of his drink, Em was already halfway across the room. She climbed into a tall stool and hooked her feet around the bars. Charlie followed her and motioned to a regular table.

“Um, do you mind if we sit here, actually?” He said. She was looking into her hot chocolate. “Em.” he said. “Em!”

She looked up and saw him gesturing at normal-sized chair. “Can we sit here?” he said.

“Oh.” she said. “Oh yeah, sorry.” She followed him and sat across from him, underneath a drawing of a lady in a big black hat. “Your folks won’t care you’re gone?”

Em shook her head. “They’ll miss me eventually, but we’re right down the street. I’ll go back as soon as we’re done.” She took a sip of her hot chocolate, and so did Charlie. It was creamy and comforting. Charlie couldn’t remember the last time he’d had anything so nice. He took another tiny sip, trying to savor it.

“I’ve missed you, Charlie. How have you been?” Emily asked.

Charlie smiled. “I’ve missed you too.” He said. “I’m a newsie now. I...I was homeless for a while. All summer an fall after wes got outta da hospital, actually.” Emily nodded. “And I met my brothers. My buddies Jack and Albert found me in my hiding spot.”

Em had her elbows on the table, staring at him with wild, blank eyes. “S-s-sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get the end of that. You were homeless, and then how’d you become a newsie?”

“My friends.” He repeated. “A couple of guys found me where I used to hide from kids who beat me up.”

Emily took a drink of her hot chocolate. “I’m so sorry.” She said. “That sounds awful. Good you’ve got friends now.”

He nodded. “Yeah. They’re great. We all live together in a lodge house.”

“You live together?” she said. “I’d love to live with my friends! I mean, my sisters and I share a room so it’s like living with friends, but living with a bunch of friends would be wonderful!”

When Emily pictured the lodge house, she probably wasn’t picturing thin mattresses in a single chilly bedroom, and boys too tired most nights to do anything but eat, shower, and go to bed. “It is fun.” he said. “They’s good pals. We stick together.”

“Yeah.” Em said. “That’s great. What’s being a newsie like?”

“Better than the streets all the time, that’s for sure.” He said. “It’s tough and long. Hot as Hades in da summer and cold as anything in the winter, but we real proud, Em. We make a livin’ for ourselves and we don’t need charity all da time.”

She was frowning, shaking her head. “I...I’m so sorry, Charlie. I couldn’t understand a word of that. It’s getting kind of loud in here.” She pulled a stubby pencil from her pocket and found a wide margin in the pape she’d just bought. “I...Can you write it down?”

Charlie had hated school when he was littler, but now he was thankful he was one of the newsboys who knew how to read and write. About half of his brothers couldn’t. He squeezed his words in between a perfume ad and a poem.

_Weather crummy. i luv macking my own $$ and freinds_

Em nodded. “I’m glad you have each other.”

“They takes care of me.” Charlie said. “We takes care of each other.”

“Can...can I ask you something, Charlie?” he said. “I don’t want to--”

“I don’t mind.” he said. “What?” “How are you doing? Like...with ya leg?”

He took a deep breath. People always wanted to stare at his leg and ask him what happened, but no one but Em ever asked how he _felt_ about it. “Ya know what’s strangest?” he said. He rubbed the grain of the table with his thumb, the other hand wrapped around his half-empty mug.

Emily reached across the table and put her hand next to his. He looked up. “Would...would you look at me? It...I can understand you a little better when you do. But we don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

Charlie looked up into her light brown eyes. Her headband made her face look narrower than it even was. “My brothers all meetin’ me after I got sick. They thinks I always been this way. Some of ‘em do.” He said. “I...I want ‘em to know I can fend for myself. They don’t treat me too much different, ya know?”

“They do, or they don’t?”

“Don’t.” He said. He tried to pronounce it a little more crisply. “Most of the time they soak me jus’ like any of da others. Jack treats me like a little kid sometimes. He 12, and his best buddy Race is 12. They think I their baby doll or somethin’. I cain’t walk so good but I ain’t a baby. I ain’t helpless.” Then he looked back down at the paper. Did she need him to write this all down?

“Yeah.” Em said. “I get it...ya wanna be taken care of, but ya still 10, and you’re still a normal kid. And just cause you need help with some things doesn’t mean you need help with everything, right?”

“Yes!” he said. “Yeah, just that. I want them to just see me. But I used to the crutch, and I gives some fellas a good wack with it when they’s foolin’.” Em smiled. “How’re ya?” he said. “Are ya alright? Like since ya been so sick?”

She licked her lips and looked into her hot chocolate. “I guess.” She said. “I’ve been sick another couple times since we were together, and I can’t hardly hear in my right ear at all.”

“Are ya totally deaf?” He asked, and then he felt stupid. Obviously not, or she wouldn’t have been able to talk or have this conversation.

“No.” She said. “But...you can surely tell talking to me now I don’t hear perfectly. It feels like everyone is mumbling all the time.”

“How’d ya find out?” His hot chocolate was almost gone, and getting cold, and he never wanted to leave.

“What?”

“Did you hear normal before last year?”

She put her chin on her fist. “I guess.” She said. “Everybody started saying I was just daydreaming and lazy and disrespectful for not listening, but even when I tried to listen words were getting lost. My mother was the only one who believed I wasn’t the same.”

Charlie nodded. “Ya seem sad and mad about it. Smad.”

Emily shook her head. “I’m what?”

He wrote on the bottom edge of the paper _Sad + Mad=Smad_

She giggled and nodded. “Yeah.” She said. “It’s nice to have a friend like you, Charlie. I missed you.”

“You too.” He said.

He wanted to say something else but the door flew open and every head turned. It was Emily’s family.

“Young lady, you come here right this minute.” her father said. “Get over here.”

Emily jumped up. She stood between her parents as both of them, stern and serious, close to her face, told her again how foolish she’d been for wandering off, how dare she just disappear into a store without them in a big city. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She repeated. Her dark eyes were wide and brimming with tears.

Charlie fumbled for his crutch. With every eye on Em, everyone was watching him too. The server in his bowtie, and a couple tables of young couples that looked like the beautiful women on the wall, dressed in more money than Charlie would ever know. He didn’t belong here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh friends, I have had this chapter in my head for weeks and been trying to work on it, and still not great. I know they don't talk like 10-year-olds would talk. And honestly I feel like I put a little too much emphasis on the disability parts and not enough actual personality. And attempting to fictionalize my family was weird AF so I just...didn't. Blah. But THEY GOT TO SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN! 
> 
> I know where I'm headed with this story and with The Storyteller but I'm working 7 days a week all of August because I hate myself apparently lol. i'm hanging onto my summer job and also impulsively took an assistant role in a special ed room because I was tired of sitting around my house being sad and frustrated I didn't get a teaching job. I'm enjoying what I'm doing but means my time to read and write for fun isn't as much! Thanks for being patient and reading and reviewing!! <333

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is and I don't know WHY I'm writing it, but y'all, here we are because I have been thinking about this ALL NIGHT, especially after I read WriteMeToHell's piece, "Let Crutchie Say Fuck" 
> 
> I was 7 years old when I had strep throat 4 times in 6 months and developed a moderate hearing loss. I've had hearing aids since I was 12, and I'm now 22, and thriving. Disabled people have always been a huge part of my life, and when I go to grad school it'll be for special ed. But I've been wrestling with a lot of feelings my own hearing for about year, and decided I'd try fiction instead of non-fiction to get them on paper. (That's the super-super-abridged version).
> 
> AND I'm just a history nerd, and Newsies trash. The burning scarlet fever-infected toys/clothes is from the Velveteen Rabbit. 
> 
> Okay, note is officially longer than the story. Ask me about Deafness. Ask me about ableism. Tell me you hated this. I'm just throwing it out into the universe. <3


End file.
